Minra was supposed to stay quiet.
That was the plan.
She wasn’t here to interfere.
She wasn’t here to fix anything.
She was just here to observe.
But watching this scene unfold—
Watching the actor on stage deliver her lines in a way that felt so stiff, so empty—
She couldn’t take it anymore.
Her fingers twitched around her clipboard.
Her jaw tightened.
And before she could stop herself—
She spoke.
“That’s wrong.”
The words rippled through the set like a gunshot.
.
Silence.
Minra felt it before she saw it.
The shift in the air.
The way every head snapped toward her.
The sudden weight of attention she wasn’t supposed to have.
Her stomach dropped.
Oh. Shit.
Because she wasn’t an author right now.
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She wasn’t a director.
She wasn’t someone who had the right to speak.
She was a lowly crew assistant.
And she had just criticized the scene.
Out loud.
In front of everyone.
Fantastic.
.
One of the assistant directors was the first to react.
A sharp scoff. “Excuse me?”
Minra swallowed. Too late to take it back.
She straightened slightly. “I mean—”
Before she could explain, the lead actor—the one who had messed up her lines—stepped forward, frowning.
“What exactly was wrong with it?”
His tone was challenging.
Minra’s pulse jumped.
Because now, all eyes were on her.
She could feel the thinly veiled irritation from the staff.
Who was she to criticize an actor?
Who was she to speak at all?
She should have backed down.
She should have let it go.
But she didn’t.
Because it wasn’t just bad acting.
It was wrong.
“The delivery.” she said, forcing her voice to stay even. “It’s not natural.”
The lead actor’s jaw tensed. “Oh?”
Minra inhaled sharply. She had already dug this grave. Might as well finish.
She pointed toward the script. “The character is supposed to be desperate. But you’re playing it too stiff. The emotions aren’t hitting right.”
More silence.
Minra could practically see the judgment in everyone’s eyes.
Until—
A voice—low, dry, lazy with amusement—cut through the tension.
“Wow.”
Minra turned.
And there he was.
Hwa HyunSeong.
Shuun.
Smirking.
.
Shuun leaned back against a camera rig, arms crossed, watching everything unfold like it was entertainment.
But instead of mocking her like she expected—
He tilted his head toward the lead actor.
“She’s not wrong.”
Minra froze.
The lead actor’s expression twitched. “What?”
Shuun sighed, rubbing his temple. “It’s stiff.”
His tone was matter-of-fact.
Uninterested. Almost bored.
Like this conversation was a waste of time.
But the moment he spoke—
The tension shifted.
Because suddenly, no one was looking at Minra anymore.
They were looking at Shuun.
And unlike her, he wasn’t ignored.
Minra saw it—the way the staff, the director, the lead actor all hesitated.
Because Shuun wasn’t just anyone.
He was untouchable.
A famous actor. A perfectionist. Someone who had the power to say whatever he wanted—and be listened to.
So while Minra had been met with glares and irritation—
The moment Shuun backed her up—
The air changed.
.
The lead actor’s expression tensed, but he didn’t argue.
Because he couldn’t.
Minra could almost hear the unspoken rule.
If a crew assistant says it—it’s disrespect.
If Shuun says it—it’s criticism.
And that?
That made Minra’s blood boil.
She stayed quiet, but Shuun noticed.
He glanced at her. Caught the way her lips pressed together.
And then, almost like he found it amusing—
His smirk deepened.
“Try it again.” he said smoothly. “But this time, actually act.”
The lead actor’s expression tightened.
But he did it.
And Minra?
She realized something.
Shuun had just proven her point.
Not by explaining it.
Not by defending her.
But by forcing them to acknowledge it.
And that—
That made him more dangerous than she had anticipated.
.
Chapter 3: The Lead Actor’s Game